


Of Entry Wounds and Rainbows

by TheVoiceofWrath (meet_your_fate)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:16:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meet_your_fate/pseuds/TheVoiceofWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sylar goes back for Luke, Sylar regrets going back for Luke, Luke gets shot, Sylar plays doctor, and then it starts to rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Entry Wounds and Rainbows

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I've had over at my LJ for a while. It was originally written during an exchange for carmexgirl over at LJ.

Luke is walking in the general direction of New Jersey, he thinks, when Sylar pulls over next to him. The sun set hours ago and he’ll be damned if he’s going to check his watch to see how long it’s been since Sylar left him bleeding in the dust and the asbestos. He’s tempted to keep going and pretend he doesn’t notice the truck, but then Sylar turns that half amused, half angry expression to him through the open window and Luke’s feet refuse to keep going.

“Are you getting in or not?” he asks. Luke looks Sylar in the eyes for as long as he can stand. It isn’t very long and it’s not like those dark, dark eyes will ever reveal any truths to the likes of him, anyway. He walks around the front of the truck, feeling Sylar’s gaze follow him through the windshield. He opens the door and gets inside. He tries not to sigh or harrumph, but he’s pretty sure he fails on one or both accounts when Sylar chuckles. He makes sure to put his seatbelt on. He watches the barren, desert wasteland pass by as the truck pulls back on to the road and wonders if that’s what his soul looks like; if that’s what makes him so easy to leave behind. He wonders if it really matters in the grand scheme of things. Probably not.

Sylar reaches behind his seat for a few moments and Luke thinks Sylar might be using telekinesis to keep the truck in its lane. That’s a handy trick. When he pulls his arm back, he has one of those drink holders from McDonald's in his hand. It’s got a large drink and two burgers on it. Sylar passes them to Luke without saying a word or looking in his direction. Luke looks at the drink, a strawberry shake even if it is kind of melted, and then looks at Sylar and smiles. Melted shake and cold burgers are more of an apology than he ever expected anyway. Sylar just keeps driving. He wonders how long Sylar’s been looking for him if the shake had time to melt and the burgers had time to get cold. He drinks and eats and the smile never really leaves his face. He doesn’t even think about nuking the burgers.

The motel they stop at is pretty crappy, but not the crappiest they’ve stayed in by far. Sylar goes to get the key alone. Luke figures he probably looks like he’s been rolling around in dirt and he still has blood on his face, so he doesn’t push to be included. Someone might get the idea that Sylar has been beating him which, strictly speaking, might be true. Luke’s had worse, though, so it doesn’t bother him much. Getting slammed into walls is the least of his worries at this point.

Sylar comes back to the truck with the key and grabs his bag from the back seat. Luke does the same and they make their way to the room. Luke very much notices the way he’s always a step back and to the right. There’s no question that he’s following Sylar like a puppy. Even if he’s a recently kicked puppy, he can’t bring himself to mind. Better a step behind than nowhere near. Sylar is a force of nature and Luke will stay in his gravitational field for as long as he’s allowed. People have been living in the shadows of great men since the dawn of mankind. He wonders if there’s a support group.

Sylar claims the bed closest to the door, like he always does, and goes into the bathroom. Luke is sure that Sylar has some irrefutable logic for his bed preference. Maybe he doesn’t want to have to walk past Luke’s sleeping form when he decides to really leave and never come back. Maybe he just wants to be close to the only entry point. Luke likes to think that Sylar puts himself closer to potential danger to keep Luke farther away from it. Of all of the possible reasons Luke has thought up, this one is the least likely. It’s also his favorite.

Luke throws his bag on his bed and rummages around inside of it for his pajama pants and a t-shirt. He’s glad to have his earthly possessions back. It would have been bad; not having anything but the clothes on his back. He can hear the shower running, so he sets his clean clothes on the bed and grabs some tissues from the bedside table. He walks over to the mirror on the wall and looks at his head wound. It isn’t very deep, but head injuries always look worse than they really are. He’s trying to pick out the dirt and grit when the shower turns off and Sylar walks into the room. It should be noted that Luke doesn’t turn his gaze to Sylar’s reflection and stop breathing like he usually does. He’s growing, it would seem; he can continue his task without being distracted by Sylar’s wet hair and shower flushed skin. This is a first. If he hadn’t ditched his cell phone, he’d mark his calendar. ‘Conquered my ADD for three goddamned seconds today’ it would read. Not that he wouldn’t be plenty distracted by Sylar without the ADD, but it’s good to have something to blame. Three seconds is about all the focus he has, too, because Sylar walks up to him and grabs his chin. He turns Luke’s head into the light.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sylar says, and Luke could have told him that. Luke scowls as best as he can with those hands on his face. Sylar presses his lips together like he’s trying to hide a smile and takes the tissue from Luke’s hand. He tilts Luke’s head a little more, and it isn’t exactly comfortable, but Luke doesn’t protest. This is how touch starved he is. Sylar gently wipes at the cut and removes the imbedded bits of abandonment from Luke’s flesh. He imagines Sylar clearing away his other sins as easily as this, but isn’t successful. Not even Sylar can piece someone he murdered back together and expect them to come back to life with forgiveness on their lips.

“There. Now go wash up; you look terrible.” Sylar says as he throws the tissue into the garbage can. Luke grumbles all the way to the bathroom and slams the door behind him. The effect is completely ruined when he has to open it right back up to go get his pajamas. His face feels like it’s on fire when Sylar laughs at him, but he figures he kind of deserves it for the rookie move he just pulled.

They leave the motel before nine the next morning and Luke is still exhausted. His blinks are slow because he has to force his eyes to open again and he tries not to rub at his face like a sleepy three year old, even if that’s exactly how he feels. Sylar is his usual grumpy self until they get to a diner and he drinks deeply from his newly filled coffee mug. His quiet, satisfied moan does things to Luke. Luke groans in despair and lays his face on the cool top of the questionably clean table between them. The waitress sets his milk beside his head.

“You okay, sugar?” she asks. It’s innocent and concerned sounding. No one’s sounded concerned about him in a very long time. He raises his face to meet her eyes and smiles.

“I’m fine, thanks; just tired.” She smiles back before nodding and going off to other customers. Sylar has his left eyebrow raised and his mug halfway between the table and his mouth when Luke turns to look at him. Luke’s smile disappears. “What?”

“…Where you just nice to the waitress?” Sylar sounds genuinely baffled.

“There something wrong with that?” Luke asks, his tone defensive. Sylar takes a drink of his formerly forgotten mug and sets it down before answering.

“Not at all. It’s just not like you.” Sylar says as he turns his Obsessive Compulsive attention to his disarrayed silverware.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m nice to people who are nice to me.” Luke can’t keep the bitterness from his voice and looks away when Sylar’s eyes meet his. Those eyes are going to drown him. Breakfast is awkward and tense. Luke can tell that this isn’t going to be a very good day.

After breakfast, they get in the truck and it’s just as tense and awkward as in the diner. After twenty minutes of silence, Luke reaches to turn on the radio. Sylar slaps his hand before he can manage it, and he slaps hard.

“What the fuck, man?” Luke exclaims as he cradles his offended hand to his chest.

“No music.”

“Why not? Would it interrupt your contemplations?” Luke rolls his eyes.

“As a matter of fact, it would.”

“Jesus Christ, Sylar. You know I can’t stand silence like this! It’s like you’re doing it on purpose!” Sylar smirks. “You are! Fuck you! If I’m so annoying, why did you bother coming back for me?”

The smirk disappears. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. We’d have both been better off.”

Luke tries to hide the hurt by looking out the passenger window. He has a feeling that it doesn’t work. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get out of your hair at the next halfway civilized place we stop. I wouldn’t want to get in your way any more than I already have.”

Sylar sighs. “Luke-”

“Whatever, it’s cool. I get it.” And it’s true, because he really does get it. Everybody wants him gone sooner or later. It’s like death and taxes; the only three things that are sure in life. He tries to feel less like his world is ending and more like it’s just beginning. It doesn’t work.

Sylar must not have been paying much attention to the road, because he probably could have used his telekinesis to keep the black SUV from hitting them. Luke’s lucky that he learned the seatbelt lesson when the truck goes ass over tea kettle into the median. But then there are three more black SUVs and Sylar’s crawling out of the shattered windshield and there are gunshots. He figures he should probably just stay were he is, hanging upside down and all, but then he remembers all those movies that show cars blowing up after accidents and after being shot at. He has to melt the seatbelt to get it off because, either the mechanism isn’t working right, or his fingers aren’t. He kind of wishes that he’d remembered gravity when he connects head first with the roof of the truck. He turns as gently as he can, not wanting to cut his hands too badly on the glass that seems to be everywhere, and crawls out of the wreckage.

What he sees when he looks up is a few overturned SUVs and a lot of electrocuted and otherwise dead guys in SWAT gear. Luke stands and falls on his ass without really knowing why. He isn’t hurt; why should he collapse? He looks down at his left thigh and sees a blood flower rapidly blossoming on his pants. At the center of it is a hole. He thinks he might have been shot. He puts his hands on it, applies pressure like they say to do on TV, and looks around for the son of a bitch that shot him. He’s just in time to see Sylar break the agent’s neck with his bare hands. Sylar searches the field of battle for more enemies before finally looking at Luke. Luke thinks that he’s probably in shock, but he thinks Sylar might be worried, too. It seems like a pretty even trade off.

Sylar’s by his side a lot quicker than Luke would have thought possible, moving Luke’s hands to look at the damage. He rips Luke’s pants to get a better view. “Hey! My pants!”

Sylar chuckles. “I’ll by you a new pair.”

“You better, asshole.”

“You’re in shock, so I’ll just ignore what you’re saying.”

“Nothing new there…” Luke mumbles. Then his brain shorts when Sylar undoes his own belt. His communications function is no longer available. He just blinks. He quickly gets with the program when Sylar fastens the belt above the wound on Luke’s leg, though; a tourniquet. Details like this are why Sylar is obviously the smartest man on the planet. Luke is privileged to have been shot in his company. Or rather, better him than anyone else. Or something. Luke is honestly beyond coherency even in his own head at this point. And that he’s perfectly cognizant of his own incoherency is strange. Even stranger is the delirium he must be experiencing; there’s no way that Sylar puts his arms under Luke’s knees and shoulders and carries him to one of the more or less undamaged SUVs and lays him in the back seat.

When Luke wakes up, it’s to low music and his own agony. The adrenalin and the shock have both passed, apparently. “Jesus Christ!”

Sylar turns the radio off and pulls over. He turns back to look at Luke with a smirk on his face. “Now you know what it’s like to be shot.”

“Yeah, well, I wish I knew what it’s like to heal really fast, too. This sucks.”

Sylar’s chuckles as he digs through a plastic bag. He produces a small bottle and pours two pills out of it. He’s got water in his other hand. “You remember how to take pills, or do I have to give you detailed instructions?”

Luke scowls at Sylar and sits up. His leg screams at him to lay the fuck back down, but he’s never been good at following orders. He takes the pills from Sylar without asking what they are. He figures Sylar could find a cooler way to kill him/poison him/slip him rohypnol. He puts the pills in his mouth and downs half of the water.

“We need to drive a while longer before we can stop. Not enough distance between us and the crime scene yet. Lie back down.” He follows Sylar’s order though and his leg takes offense to that, too. Just as Luke is drifting off to sleep, he notices that Sylar said ‘we’.

This time, Luke wakes up all alone and it’s night time. The truck is stationary and Luke has a momentary panic attack until the door behind his head opens and Sylar smirks down at him.

“Sit up; I’m not going to do all the work.” Luke hurries to obey, but jars his injured leg. He must have cried out, because Sylar’s hand grabs his upper arm and helps him the rest of the way up. “I’m not going to have to carry you to the room am I?”

“No. Just… maybe leave your hand there.” It’s a team effort to get to the room. Luke hobbles along and Sylar supports most of Luke’s weight and does his best to look put upon. Once inside, Sylar helps him to the farthest bed and lowers him down onto towels and plastic sheeting. Sylar must have set it up before bringing Luke in so that he could perform amateur surgery without worrying about the mess.

“The bullet has to come out,” Sylar explains.

“You know, I wasn’t aware of that. Any other wisdom you’d like to share with me?” Luke talks big when he’s worried and he knows that Sylar can see right through it, but that doesn’t stop it from making him feel better.

“It’s probably not the best idea to antagonize the person who’s going to be digging around in your leg with giant tweezers. I hear there are arteries in that general area.” Sylar is going through a first aid kit, pulling out supplies. When he got a first aid kit, Luke has no idea. It isn’t exactly something that Sylar would need to carry around.

“Can’t you just use the force to pull the bullet out?” Luke says, eyeing said tweezers with trepidation. Sylar looks at him like he just might be the stupidest person on the planet.

“Sure; if you want shredded muscles and tendons and veins. Even if I focused all of my attention on making the bullet follow its original path, the flattened edges would tear your flesh and I’d do more harm than good. I’m going to have to get in there and see what damage there is and how to best avoid causing any more.” Sylar looks at him critically. “Or are you just afraid that it will hurt?”

“Of course I’m not afraid! It’s just… how do I know that your tweezers are sterilized? And how do I know if you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“I’ve done brain surgery before. Removing a bullet shouldn’t be hard. And of course the forceps are sterilized.”

“Yeah, well, how many of your patients are alive enough to tell me how good your surgery skills are? I want to see some testimonials.” It’s a joke, but Sylar answers it like it was a serious question.

“Just the one, but I don’t think she’d be willing to compliment me on her successful vivisection.”

“… Someone survived your serial killing?” Luke is genuinely intrigued by this idea.

“It’s not about the killing. Well, not usually. And if my head was cut open, I’d heal, wouldn’t I? Where do you think I got that little trick from?” He gently rearranges Luke’s legs so that he can sit on the bed and have complete access to Luke’s injury. Then, he rips Luke’s pant leg off the rest of the way and throws it into the garbage can. Luke concentrates on breathing. “This is probably going to be the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced. I don’t have anything to help with the pain. And the iodine alone will probably make you pass out.”

Luke laughs. He probably sounds insane. “This is hardly going to be the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. I’ll buy you dinner if it is.”

Sylar’s lips quirk in something between a smile and a sneer. “You don’t have any money.”

“That’s how certain I am.” Sylar busies himself with the injury and Luke is sure he imagined the glimmer of concern in those chocolate eyes. Concern is not something Sylar feels at all, let alone for Luke.

The next thing Luke knows, Sylar is pouring something onto his leg. His fists clench in the plastic and the comforter underneath and his teeth grind together. This isn’t the most excruciating experience of his life, but it’s definitely in the top ten. He doesn’t move his leg, no matter how much the instinct to get away from the pain fights with him. There’s a brief reprieve while Sylar picks up the forceps and inspects the injury. It doesn’t last long. All too soon, those giant tweezers are inside Luke and this is officially in his top five. He’ll be avoiding getting shot at from now on. He makes a humming noise of discontentment.

“I’m almost done,” Sylar promises. It’s soothing. “I’ve almost got it.”

“Hurrying up would be much appreciated,” he growls through his teeth. Sylar chuckles at him. And just like that, everything hurts a lot less.

“I got it,” Sylar says as he holds the bullet up for Luke to see. How such a small thing can cause so much trouble, Luke will never know. He reaches out to grab it, but Sylar pulls it away and sets it in a glass on the bedside table. “It’s covered in blood; you can play with it when it’s clean.”

“You’re no fun,” Luke complains as Sylar wipes his hands on towel. “Are you going to bandage it up or something?”

Sylar rolls his eyes and presses the towel against Luke’s leg. “So, not the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced?”

“Not quite.” Sylar raises an eyebrow, as if to ask what is his most painful experience. Luke shakes his head. “A guy’s gotta have his secrets. If I told you everything about me, there wouldn’t be any mystery left. Then what use would you have for me?”

“Because I keep you around for your air of mystery,” Sylar jokes. He removes the towel and pours some water onto Luke’s leg to wash away the dried blood.

“Why do you keep me around?” Luke doesn’t expect an answer. He expects Sylar to say that he doesn’t know, that he shouldn’t, that he isn’t going to anymore. That isn’t what Sylar says.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” Sylar says as he begins bandaging Luke’s leg. “Trying and failing.”

Luke looks at Sylar curiously. “I don’t understand.”

Sylar doesn’t respond until he’s finished with the bandage. He secures the loose end and idly sets his hand on top of it. He doesn’t look at Luke. “I should have killed you in your living room and how many chances have I had since then? The times I was rid of you, I just picked you right back up again. I don’t know why and it’s beginning to concern me.”

Luke takes a deep breath and leans up on his elbows to get a better view of Sylar. “I don’t know why you come back for me, either. No one else ever has. It’s kind of weird. I mean, I can tell that you don’t like me, that you think I’m annoying. Anyone else would have let the agents have me, if they’d even let me come along in the first place. I guess something about having someone as screwed up as you around makes you feel less crazy.”

“That’s obviously it. I mean, I’m just a psycho killer; you make me look like a harmless puppy.” They both laugh and Luke hasn’t felt this content for a long time. When the happy sound ends, Sylar still has a lazy half smile on his face. “Do you have to go to the bathroom before bed?”

“Kinda. This should be interesting. You gonna hold me up while I pee?” Luke jokes.

“If I have to. I’m pretty sure you could manage to stand on your own if you put all your weight on your right leg, though. Let’s make that Plan A.”

Sylar helps Luke into the bathroom and props him up in front of the toilet. He makes sure he’s steady before nodding at Sylar to get the fuck out of the bathroom, thank you very much. Luke does his business and manages to hobble over to the sink to wash his hands. He leans on the counter and the doorway and makes his way back out to the room. Sylar is cleaning up the mess and Luke didn’t realize until just now how much blood he must have lost. It certainly looks like a lot. Maybe it’s the long day or the exertion of hobbling or maybe it’s the blood loss; either way, he gets a little dizzy. Sylar is there in an instant to steady him, this time with both hands on Luke’s upper arms.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, just a little lightheaded,” Luke explains. He looks up into Sylar’s deep eyes and smiles. Those bottomless pits seem kind of inviting, like he could fall and fall and fall forever in them and not mind in the least. He blinks slowly and, the next thing he knows, he’s pushing his face up against Sylar’s and he can feel those lips against his own. Sylar squeezes Luke’s arms and returns the kiss for a moment that hardly seems like a moment at all before pulling back and shaking his head.

“Let’s get you in bed before you do something really stupid,” he says as he guides Luke to his bed and underneath the covers.

“Watch it, mister; you’re supposed to buy me dinner first.” Sylar laughs again.

“How many times have I bought you breakfast, lunch and dinner? I’d say you owe me if that’s your only requirement.”

“I do owe you. I’d still be back in Jersey, amounting to a whole lot of nothing, without you. Even this whole fugitive thing is better than nothing.” Sylar pulls the covers up to Luke’s chin and gently pats him on the head, letting his fingers card through chestnut hair for just a second too long.

“Go to sleep, you impossible child.” Maybe Luke’s tired ears imagined the playfulness in Sylar’s jibe and maybe they didn’t. He’s too far gone to care much. He snuggles down into the comfort of crappy motel linens and drifts away. He thinks he might have imagined the light pressure of a kiss against his temple, too.

The first thing Luke is aware of the next morning is bright, painful light. His head is aching and it takes a moment for his eyes, and his brain, to focus. The curtains are open. The second thing he’s aware of is someone fiddling with his leg. Luke looks down and sees Sylar changing his bandage. The dots connect and Luke understands.

“You could have woken me up first. Molesting me in my sleep is a little weird.”

“You could use the extra sleep. You’re drinking juice at breakfast, by the way. Blood loss and all that,” Sylar prescribes. He thinks it’s almost funny that Sylar’s worried about Luke’s ability to produce blood cells. When the new bandage is done, Sylar continues. “And I’m not molesting you. You, of all people, should be able to tell the difference.”

“Oh, zing. What is that supposed to mean? And why didn’t I change my clothes last night? I’m wearing half a pair of pants,” Luke complains as he sits up.

“I have no idea why you didn’t change your clothes. I don’t think you realized that it was an option. And you know exactly what I mean. The only reason I’m not going to hold you accountable for… what you did last night is the fact that you were tired and confused.”

“Prude,” Luke grumbles as he reaches over the edge of the bed to grab his duffle bag. He can feel Sylar’s glare as he pulls out some new clothes. He smirks. “Are you going to help me get to the bathroom, or am I on my own now?”

To his surprise, Sylar does help him get to the bathroom. Sylar is by no means gentle about it, of course When Luke is alone in the bathroom, he does his business and then cleans himself with a washcloth and hot water. He can’t stand long enough to take a shower and he’d just get his bandage wet, anyway. His legs don’t seem to be able to support his weight anymore by the time he’s finished. He calls for Sylar.

After a moment, Sylar opens the door a few inches and sticks his head inside. His eyebrow is raised. “You rang, your majesty?”

“Can you, ah- give me a hand here? I’m kind of too weak to stand on my own now. All of this sponge bathing and clothes changing seems to have taken its toll.” Luke puts his best sheepish face on and Sylar rolls his eyes.

“Maybe you should have sat down for as much of it as possible,” Sylar offers as he comes closer and helps Luke up.

“Yeah, but then it would have taken longer.”

“Oh, yeah, well that makes sense.” Luke can feel Sylar shaking his head in amusement. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast and head out.”

They end up eating at some run down little dinner a few minutes from the motel that only has one other patron. They aren’t asked any questions when Luke limps in with Sylar’s hand hovering against his lower back. It seems oddly possessive and Luke is surprised that they don’t even get a strange look. Sylar helps him slide into a booth and sits across from him.

Luke orders waffles and orange juice. Sylar orders eggs and bacon, with coffee to drink. Breakfast is a silent affair, but not an awkward one. For the first time, Luke can say that the two of them have sat in companionable anything, let alone silence. When they’re done, Sylar pays the check and steers him back to the truck.

“You know, I’m not made of glass. I think I can hobble a few feet without shattering,” he complains, but he doesn’t mean it. He likes the idea that Sylar is protecting him, making sure he doesn’t fall.

“That remains to be seen. Every time I leave you unattended, you seem to get hurt in some way,” explains Sylar as he climbs in the driver’s seat and starts the car. Luke buckles up his seat belt before they pull out of the parking lot.

“How many of those instances were directly your fault?” Luke jokes. “Every single one of them?”

Sylar sighs. “Something like that.”

Luke looks out his window. The skies are grey and stormy, like it could start raining any second. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I don’t blame you for anything. I understood that coming along with you would be dangerous. I mean… I don’t know what I mean anymore. You make me so confused.”

In that instant, the rain starts falling. It’s torrential and Luke used to be kind of afraid of thunder, but he certainly isn’t anymore; not when there’s something as wonderful and terrifying as Sylar in this world. Sylar drives in silence for a few minutes and Luke figures that Sylar is just ignoring him. It wouldn’t be the first time. But then Sylar pulls over, and Luke wonders for a moment how Sylar could even recognize the shoulder of the road in this downpour, before he remembers that there isn’t anything Sylar can’t do. Sylar’s still facing the road when he speaks.

“People around me always get hurt. Sometimes it’s my fault and sometimes it isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I want it to happen. I don’t want you to get hurt, Luke.” Sylar has never sounded more sincere in all the time Luke’s known him.

“Is that why you keep leaving me?”

“Partly, I’m sure. The larger part is logic, though, so don’t feel too flattered. It just doesn’t make sense to have you around.”

“Then why do you keep coming back for me?” Sylar meets his eyes and just stares for a moment, but in this truck and in this rain, seconds seem like hours. He takes a deep breath before answering.

“I think I’ve finally figured it out,” he says as he finally breaks eye contact and looks back out the windshield. “The part of me that isn’t controlled by logic, that part that’s all emotion and instinct; I think that part of me likes having you around for… whatever reason. And that part of me is winning the tug of war over whether or not I should let you stay with me. I hate it when that part of me wins.”

Luke blinks a few times. What an interesting way to tell someone you like their company. “Golly, mister! If I’d known I’d cause you so much trouble, I’d have stayed home like a good boy!”

Sylar laughs. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Yeah, me, too,” he admits. “So, that’s why you’ve been so weird? You don’t hate me, and you’re bitter about it?”

“Something like that.” Sylar turns to look at him again. “Why did you do it?”

“I’ve done a lot of things in my life, so you’re going to have to be a little more specific.” Of course Luke knows that Sylar means the kiss. The kiss that Luke had thought he might get away with due to extenuating circumstances.

“You’re a lot smarter than you want people to think. You like to be underestimated you, don’t you?”

“Anything for the tactical advantage. I should think you’d understand that better than most.”

Sylar nods. “Let me simplify then. Why did you kiss me? And no excuses.”

Luke sighs and looks out his window. “I should think it was fairly obvious.”

“I need you to say it, Luke. Telepathy is not a skill I’ve acquired.”

He takes a deep breath before he says it. “I’ve been waiting for that kiss since that day in my mother’s house, when you were drinking our coffee and going through our mail. I know I’m a freak. I mean, who gets the hots for psychos who hold them hostage and torture people in front of them? Some kind of instantaneous Stockholm syn-”

Suddenly, Sylar grabs Luke’s chin and turns his face around. Luke has about two second’s warning before Sylar’s lips are on his own and this is so much better than blood loss kisses that Luke doesn’t even totally remember. This is hot and real and Luke can feel it in a way he couldn’t in the motel room. He can feel it all the way to his toes. Sylar holds Luke’s face and maneuvers Luke’s body so that it’s facing his, jarring Luke’s leg in the process. He must have called out or flinched or maybe both, because Sylar pulls away and looks at him curiously.

“My leg. It’s fine, though. Really. Who the fuck cares about sore legs at a time like this?” Sylar chuckles and Luke can feel it reverberate through his body. Sylar pulls Luke, gently this time, so that he’s sitting in the middle of the bench and lowers him to his back. Luke honestly didn’t realize there was enough room for him to comfortably lie down in the front seat of a truck, even with his knees bent, but he doesn’t have time to contemplate spatial recognition right this second because Sylar fits himself between Luke’s thighs and leans over him. Sylar touches Luke’s face, his brow, his cheek, his nose; Luke has never been petted before. He finds that he’s missed out. Inside this metal box, surrounded by rain and by Sylar, Luke feels safer and more loved than he’s ever felt in his entire life. He reaches his own hand up and grabs Sylar by his nape. He presses his mouth to Sylar’s and feels Sylar smile, an honest to god contented smile, against his lips.

Sylar ends the kiss, but stays close. He presses his nose to the flesh beneath Luke’s ear. The word ‘nuzzling’ comes to mind, but Luke doesn’t think Sylar would approve of using it to describe him. “Tell me this is some hormonal teenager thing, and I’ll understand. I’m not expecting any kind of commitment.”

Luke pushes Sylar far enough away so that he can see his face. “You can’t say shit like that with your face buried in my neck.”

Sylar raises his eyebrow. “I think I just did.”

And Luke understands. Sylar’s not like Luke, who’s all bravado when he’s scared; Sylar hides when he feels vulnerable. Luke grins up at the only being who’s ever been worth his devotion. “Sylar, of course this isn’t some stupid crush. You can’t possibly think that I’d have stuck around though all of this crap if I was just a horny little boy. I think I fell in love with you when you saw my ability and you weren’t disgusted. I mean, my mom, who is supposed to care about me, thought I was a freak of nature. You, who had just met me, saw the potential inside of me. No one before you has ever seen potential in me. So I stole my mom’s keys and I let you take her car, take me. And I’ve never looked back, not once. This is where I want to be; on my back in a truck with a bullet hole in my leg and rain pounding on the roof; with you between my legs looking down at me like I’m too good to be true.”

Luke’s never been the speech making type, but he’s glad he said his words because Sylar starts kissing him again. If it had been anyone but Sylar, Luke might have expected a return of sentiments. But then, Luke doesn’t want anyone but Sylar.

Sylar snakes his hand up Luke’s shirt without Luke really noticing, until he grazes Luke’s nipple. Luke arches up into Sylar’s touch and moans into Sylar’s mouth. Sylar manages to get Luke’s shirt off without ripping it to shreds. Luke grabs Sylar’s shoulder with one hand and fists the other in Sylar’s hair. He likes how that hair looks when it’s messy. By the time Sylar is navigating Luke’s zipper, Luke has only managed to push Sylar’s shirt up a little and rest his hand in the small of Sylar’s back. When Sylar touches his cock, Luke has to stop himself from digging his nails into Sylar’s skin.

Sylar laughs against his skin, kisses down his neck, and tongues his collar bone. Luke whimpers in loss when Sylar disengages, but then Sylar is taking off his own clothes and Luke has a whole new plane, this one made of bone and sinew instead of fabric, to worship. He runs his hands over broad shoulders and strong pecs, coarse hair and slim hips. Sylar pushes his pants down and Luke doesn’t even really get a chance to appreciate the view before Sylar is on him; chest to chest and mouth to mouth and cock to cock. Sylar nibbles his way to Luke’s Adams apple and sets about marking it as his own.

Fingers press into Luke’s mouth and Luke has seen enough porn that he knows what he supposed to do. He sucks on those fingers, Sylar’s fingers, until they’re wet and Sylar pulls them out. Sylar meets his gaze, as if to ask permission, before they slide inside him. First one, then two. When there are three and they hit that spot that he’d only ever heard about before, the one that makes him see stars, he’s had enough.

“Enough teasing, Sylar! Hurry the fuck up!”

Sylar smirks. “You’re always so impatient for things to end. Don’t you ever just stop and smell the roses?”

“I’m a little less concerned about roses and a lot more concerned about getting your cock inside of me!” Sylar’s eye twitches in response and he seems a lot more intent on getting his inside of Luke, too.

When Sylar presses his cock against Luke, begins pushing in, Luke starts to think this might not be that great of an idea. He hadn’t exactly thought about the painful side of things. But then Sylar grabs his thigh, a few inches above the bandage, for leverage and Luke remembers that there’s no way anal sex can possibly make it onto his top ten list of most painful things ever. Otherwise, why would people keep doing it? So he bites his lower lip against the initial pain and Sylar kisses him, takes that bitten lip between his own and sucks on it. Then Sylar is all the way in and he pauses for Luke to adjust. When Luke is ready, he rolls his hips and only Sylar would be able to multitask so well in the throes of passion. He’s thrusting and kissing and holding Luke’s injured leg down so Luke can’t hurt it even more by wrapping it around Sylar’s waist. His other leg is under no such restrictions, though, and so he does wrap it around Sylar.

He meets Sylar thrust for thrust and Sylar presses his face against Luke’s shoulder. Sylar adjusts Luke’s hips a microscopic degree, but it makes all the difference. Suddenly, every single stroke is hitting that spot and Luke doesn’t last much longer. With the heat and the rain and the explosions behind his eyelids, Luke is fairly certain that this is what sensory overload feels like. He comes, almost screaming Sylar’s name and shooting hot spunk all over both their chests. Sylar lasts a few more thrusts and then he’s coming, too, and it’s the most beautiful thing Luke’s ever seen in his life. He groans, deep and guttural, and his eyelids squeeze shut. His hips stutter to a stop. He collapses, tired and sweaty, onto Luke and Luke welcomes it willingly. Sylar’s warm breath feels cool on overheated skin.

Luke thinks that Sylar’s never been more beautiful, more divine, than he is in this moment. He can see god’s handiwork in the way Sylar’s neck meets his shoulder, in the way the corner of Sylar’s mouth is turned up and smirking, in the way those eyes seem like the center of the galaxy and the edge of the universe all at once. That he’s allowed to touch, even for just a few more minutes, is more than Luke ever thought he’d be given in this life. He could die happy right now.

“You’re looking at me like I just created life,” Sylar jokes from under half lidded eyes.

“You better not have; I don’t have the organs to support life. Or at least, I didn’t before you came along. That’ll teach me to be lax with the contraceptives, I guess.” They both laugh.

“Are you always this witty?”

“Of course; you were just too busy ignoring me to notice before.”

“Oh, Luke. I couldn’t ignore you if I tried. And believe me, I have. And failed, too. Every single time.”

“You really should have pretended that you were capable of ignoring me. I’m never going to let you get away with it now.”

Sylar kisses Luke and then sits up. He goes about getting his clothes back on. “Come on, get your clothes on.”

“What, is the party over already?”

“Hardly. I’d like to take this to a motel now that the rain has stopped,” which it had, only Luke hadn’t noticed. “Unless you want some lonely trucker to get a free show, of course. You young people and your exhibitionism.”

“Oh right, because I’m the exhibitionist that pulled over on the highway to have sex,” Luke jibes as he pulls his pants back on.

“It doesn’t count.”

“Why not?” Luke asks.

“Because it was raining so hard that I couldn’t even see the lines on the road. We were never in any danger of being spotted,” Sylar explains as he pulls back onto the road.

“Says you,” Luke grumbles. After he puts his shirt back on, he looks out the window. There’s a rainbow. He’s tempted to mention it to Sylar, to laugh about how girly it is, but he doesn’t do either one. He smiles up at the sky and tucks this rainbow away in his mind, in the folder of things that may or may not be signs from a higher power. This one looks like it’s telling him that he’s exactly where he needs to be, that he finally belongs. At least, that’s his interpretation. He turns and looks at Sylar and can’t imagine interpreting it any other way. Sylar turns to smile at him. It’s more beautiful than any rainbow.


End file.
